


Alone Time

by violetonmain



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Boot Humping, Erotic Literature, Exhibitionism, Gen, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27769255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violetonmain/pseuds/violetonmain
Summary: Honest Lysanios traced Guillame’s face with his hands. “Did you not believe me?”Sharp-eyed Guillame looked up into Lysanios’ dark eyes and saw, as he had always seen, truth and goodness. “I believe you now.”And he coaxed Lysanios’ face down, and he ran a mighty hand through Lysanios’ dark hair, and he drew Lysanios into a passionate—“Eek!”—kiss—“Yes!”--Bernadetta unwinds in her room with some light reading.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17
Collections: Wank Week





	Alone Time

**Author's Note:**

> Written for FE3H Wanksgiving Weekend, for prompt "discovery/fear."

_“You came back.”_

_Swift Lysanios appeared from between the trees, rabbits in hand. Said he, “Did I not say I would?”_

“Ooh!” Bernadetta claps a hand to her mouth and looks around nervously. She’s alone in her room, but it’s possible her squeal was heard from under the door… A moment passes, then two. She’s in the clear.

_Sharp-eyed Guillame, sat on a rock by the fire, studied his companion. Lysanios’ dark hair, once cut in traditional Asmaran style, had grown out and whipped in uneven waves about his head. His shoulders, squared toward Guillame in an indignant set, rejected any charge of dishonesty. His frame, slim but well-formed, moved with natural grace as he came forward to present his hunt._

_He stood before Guillame, honest, graceful Lysanios, his browned skin glowing golden under the sun. “As you have done for me, so I shall do for you. This, I swore. Did you not hear me?”_

_Guillame reached for the rabbits, which Lysanios gave easily. Then sly Guillame laid the rabbits on the ground, and pulled Lysanios to him. “I did hear you.”_

Bernadetta squirms in her seat, wide-eyed, her lips pursed against a giant grin. It’s happening! It’s finally happening! Mighty, sly Guillame, and swift, honest Lysanios, two knights on opposite sides of a long, bloody border war, who were injured and left for dead as a battle raged on, who dragged themselves to safety and in the process became deserters, who then relied on one another for survival even as they bitterly hated one another for their respective loyalties, eventually took a step toward trust. Guillame healed first, but his foot was irreparably damaged, leaving his gait slow and careful and uneven. In a display of camaraderie, he cared for the still-injured Lysanios until he, as well, was healed. Lysanios, swift as he ever was, disappeared into the trees, leaving Guillame behind.

And then he came back. And now—

_Honest Lysanios traced Guillame’s face with his hands. “Did you not believe me?”_

_Sharp-eyed Guillame looked up into Lysanios’ dark eyes and saw, as he had always seen, truth and goodness. “I believe you now.”_

_And he coaxed Lysanios’ face down, and he ran a mighty hand through Lysanios’ dark hair, and he drew Lysanios into a passionate—_

“Eek!”

_—kiss—_

“Yes!”

_—full of all the honesty and truth a sly, sharp-eyed man could give. And Lysanios responded in kind, for it was his way._

Bernadetta lets out a blissful sigh as her hand comes back to press against her mouth. She’s been waiting for this kiss for chapters and chapters. She’s fallen into bed at night and dreamed of how it would happen. Every gentle touch, every lingering glance had her on the edge of her seat, breath bated, cheeks pinked, hoping. Now it’s here, and it’s everything she wanted and more.

_When Lysanios pulled away, it was to help Guillame down to the ground. Guillame sat then on the soft earth with his back to the rock, and Lysanios came to sit atop him, his legs spread wide._

_Dark-eyed Lysanios then studied the face of sharp-eyed Guillame, and, finding what it was he searched for, gave himself to another kiss. His lips were unpracticed, yet he was not clumsy; his natural instincts led him in this as they led him in all physical pursuits. Guillame’s hands came to rest at Lysanios’ hips, gently guiding him in an easy motion that suited both of their natures._

_And so mighty Guillame felt himself stir beneath graceful Lysanios._

Bernadetta’s breath catches in her throat as she, too, stirs. Her eyes flick to the door, and the outside world beyond it, wishing, not for the first time, that her room didn’t open out into plein air. It’s the middle of the day, prime time for unwanted visitors, and lately it’s been harder to keep people out. It wouldn’t do to be seen, let alone heard, so she should _really_ put the book away and wait until nightfall.

But a minute passes and no one knocks, and all she hears outside are the faint sounds of an average day at the monastery, so she draws a knee up to her chest, letting her skirt fall open, and turns back to her reading.

_Their position was such that Guillame could not hide his stirring from Lysanios, had he wanted to. He had, fortunately, no such want; rather, he encouraged Lysanios to move against him slowly and intentionally, so that Lysanios could feel Guillame’s honest desire._

Bernadetta reaches a hand down to brush the very tips of her fingers against the front of her shorts, teasing herself the way she likes. Occasionally she lets a fingernail drag over the thick material, giving her a hint of real pleasure, then goes back to light rubs and playful taps.

_Lysanios let out a low hum, and pulled his lips from Guillame’s. He settled his weight fully on Guillame’s lap so that Guillame could feel him, too, and pressed his forehead to Guillame’s. His dark eyes warmed with desire, and yet sharp-eyed Guillame saw something else there that gave him pause._

_“You are nervous,” said Guillame. “You have doubts?”_

_“I have none,” said honest Lysanios._

_“But you are nervous.”_

_Lysanios dropped his gaze. “Not about you.”_

_Guillame studied his face. “Then, about you?”_

_Lysanios frowned, hesitant, his gaze still on the ground. “There has been no other,” said he, and Guillame, knowing this already to be true, felt desire and fondness swell within him. “I know not how to please you.”_

_“This is no cause for nerves,” said Guillame, because it was true. Then, because he was sly, he said, “I have had many others, and know well how to please.”_

_Lysanios’ face was red with peevishness, and also with arousal. “Do not tease me. Show me, or do not.”_

_Guillame smiled. “Then I shall show you.” And with a great heave, mighty Guillame took swift Lysanios by surprise and toppled him onto his back, with Guillame between his thighs._

Bernadetta exhales slow and shaky as she begins to press more roughly over the fabric of her shorts. She can feel the heat and damp there, now, and her heartbeat pulses insistent against her fingers. She looks again at the door. If someone were to come in…

She drags her thumbnail slow and hard against herself, imagining a faceless interloper throwing the door open and exposing her for all eyes to see. She hunches inward, bracing against the anxiety and shame, but her thumb doesn’t stop its motion.

_“Have you had this?” asked sly Guillame, pressing his soft mouth to Lysanios’ bare throat._

_“No,” said honest Lysanios, his breath coming quick._

_“What about this?” asked Guillame, sucking first gently, then harder, until a mark began to form._

_“No,” said Lysanios, his hips pressing up to meet Guillame’s._

_“Or this,” and Guillame added his teeth, biting lightly at the place where Lysanios’ neck met his shoulder._

_Lysanios let out a cry, and wrapped his legs around Guillame’s hips. “Never,” whispered he._

_“Now you have,” said Guillame._

Bernadetta shudders into her own touch, and her fingers, when she presses them hard against the hottest spot of her shorts, come away tacky. She gives the door another lingering glance before she does away with the shorts, pulling them off roughly but slowly enough to appreciate the string of wetness that follows.

Now that she’s bare under her skirt, her room starts to fill with the heady, thick smell of arousal. She’d better not have any visitors for the rest of the day, or everyone will know what she’s been doing. She squeezes her thighs together, panting shallowly, and barely holds back a moan when she feels them peel apart.

Her gaze drops to the trunk in the corner. No, Bernie. She shouldn’t. It’s dirty. She promised herself she wouldn’t. But she’s so turned on she can hardly think, and she’s making a mess of herself in the middle of the day, and she really is no good anyway. And if she truly didn’t want to use it, she wouldn’t have even brought it.

Bernadetta goes to the bottom of the trunk and pulls out the boot.

It’s an old knee-high riding boot, one she’s outgrown but has kept and taken care of. The leather is soft and supple and well-oiled, particularly along the strap that encircles the ankle. It would be pristine if not for the dark, streaky stain running all along the top of the foot.

Bernadetta braces against a wave of shame, and then against a more powerful wave of arousal. She looks to the door one last time. Gives herself one last chance to be good.

She takes the boot and runs to hide under her desk.

Now, here, in this small enclosed space, she breathes easier. She takes the book from her desk and sets it on the chair, then kneels over the boot, lifts her skirt up, and slides herself against the leather.

“ _Oh-!_ ”

The first touch is amazing, almost unbearable. She slicks up the top of the boot instantly, and rocks slowly into her own wetness, savoring the feeling. The grain of the leather drags deliciously against her delicate, sensitive skin. She sets a sedate pace, holding the boot steady with one hand and turning pages with the other.

_Guillame undressed Lysanios with experienced hands. “This, you know.”_

_“Yes,” said Lysanios._

_Once Lysanios was bare, Guillame wrapped a mighty hand around his flushed length. “This, too.”_

_Lysanios paused. “No,” said he._

_“No?” Guillame stroked Lysanios in an even rhythm. He gathered the wetness that had formed at the tip and spread it around. “Not even yourself?”_

_Lysanios’ mouth opened, but he made no sound, only harsh breath in time with Guillame’s strokes. He was flushed from ear to chest. Then, “You are the first.”_

_Guillame coaxed another drop of wetness from Lysanios, then another. “I am honored.”_

_Graceful Lysanios, head thrown back to bare his marked throat, said nothing, and only moved as his body commanded him._

_Sharp-eyed Guillame slowed, then stopped. Lysanios made a wounded sound. Said Guillame, “I want you.”_

_“You have me.”_

_“All of you.”_

_“You have,” said Lysanios, “all of me.”_

_Guillame smiled at Lysanios’ naivety. “I mean—”_

_“I know,” said Lysanios, “what you mean.” And honest, graceful Lysanios turned himself over so all of him faced Guillame. “_ I _mean,” said he, “you have it. It is yours.”_

_“Gods,” whispered Guillame._

“Saints,” Bernadetta curses, rubbing herself up against the ankle strap so she sees stars, just for a moment.

_Guillame prepared Lysanios with reverent care. A well-oiled fingertip circled his entrance and patiently calmed him, and brought him to shivering relaxation. Then one finger slipped in, and curled, and found the spot that made Lysanios cry out in pleasure. And when two mighty fingers could press without resistance into Lysanios’s soft entrance, and when the strained whine that came from his throat was not from discomfort but from impatience, then did sharp-eyed Guillame give his final demonstration._

_“You have not had this,” said Guillame when he was deep inside._

_Lysanios, breathless and clumsy from pleasure, said, “No.”_

Bernadetta, breathless and clumsy from pleasure, says, “ _Yes_.”

_Guillame set a rhythm, and kept it up for some time. Alas, his poor foot could not withstand the press of the ground, soft though it was. His thrusts came uneven as he managed pleasure and pain._

_Honest Lysanios said, “Your foot.”_

_Mighty Guillame, ashamed, said nothing._

_Lysanios sat up and pulled away. “It is no matter,” said he. “Lie down. On your back, and I will ride atop you.”_

_Guillame smiled then, and lay himself down. “You do know,” said he, “that this will have you do all the work.”_

_He knew what honest Lysanios would say before he said it. “As I swore,” said Lysanios, “as you have done for me, so I shall do for you.” And, one knee planted on either side of Guillame’s hips, sank Lysanios down upon mighty Guillame._

A clattering right outside her room startles Bernadetta. Her thighs clamp down on the boot, and she trembles, wide-eyed, peeking out from under her desk just enough to see the door.

Outside, a voice curses. Footsteps approach, then stop, then a light shuffling sound, then the voice grumbles about something and the footsteps retreat.

Bernadetta exhales deeply, and realizes she was holding her breath. Her heart pounds. Her limbs shake. Beneath her, the boot is soaked, and as her hips move again, she presses her cheek against the chair from the overwhelming pleasure.

Someone could have come in. Someone could have heard her in here, and thought she was in trouble, and thrown the door open, and _seen_ her, flushed and wet and messy and _bad_ , Bernie’s a bad girl, doing dirty things to an old boot right here where anyone could see. Her skirt won’t hide her, she’s made such a mess beneath it that all it’d take is one look for someone to see how dirty she is. No wonder nobody wants her around. No wonder they all hate her, when she’s bad like _this_ —

_And graceful, swift Lysanios moved according to his nature, and mighty, sly Guillame guided him with his hands, and like this their shared pleasure came to crest, and so did the pair, each with his own pleasured cry, spend their seed._

Bernadetta grinds down on the boot, clamps her teeth around the cushion of the chair, and comes hard with a muffled scream.

In the following minutes, she drifts in a pleasant haze, barely feeling the hard floor beneath her knees or the chair frame digging into her face. She does, with time, become aware of the cooling, sticky mess between her thighs. When she tries to get up to take care of it, she remembers the desk.

“Ouch!” She falls back to her knees, and remembers the floor. “Augh! Ooh, stupid! So stupid!”

A knock at the door. “Bernadetta? Are you okay?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm @violetonmain on Twitter.


End file.
